


Preferred

by tastewithouttalent



Series: Understanding [12]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff, Inline with canon, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-12
Updated: 2014-12-12
Packaged: 2018-02-26 21:55:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2667737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Gokudera barely sleeps the night after he passes the inheritance test." Gokudera has a rough night of it after his inheritance test. Yamamoto is the best accidental reassurance he could get.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Preferred

Gokudera barely sleeps the night after he passes the inheritance test. There’s too much humming in his thoughts, joy at passing burdened with the weight of shame and failure, self-deprecation so hot in his veins he flushes with embarrassment to think of it even with no one there to see. He keeps repeating phrases over and over in his head until he’s heard the implied criticism in a thousand voices, seen the distaste for his original self on a thousand different faces, and by the time the morning comes it’s almost a relief to be spared from the demons of the night.

He can’t eat. There’s nothing even to be done, no problem that Gokudera can easily fix, but he can feel self-consciousness making his every movement heavy with anticipated judgment, his every word come slow and halting as he strips them of emotional weight. By the time he leaves he’s already exhausted, worn down before he has even left the front door, and even the habitual sight of Yamamoto waiting for him isn’t enough to improve his mood.

“Hiya,” Yamamoto offers as Gokudera comes through the gate. “You look tired, did you not sleep well?”

“No,” Gokudera says. It comes out sharper than he intends, rough-edged with the strain of insomnia and forced restraint, and then he’s talking over his plans to be better, snapping “Thanks, that makes me feel  _great_.”

Yamamoto doesn’t return the verbal blow. He just laughs easy amusement, jogs to fall into step alongside Gokudera, close enough that Gokudera could take his hand if he weren’t busy hunching his shoulders and cramming his hands into his pockets. “You sound like you’re back to normal. You were acting weird yesterday.”

“I know.” Gokudera doesn’t look at the pleasant warmth of Yamamoto’s smile, glares down at the sidewalk in front of his feet instead. “Steady and reliable, right?” He kicks at the pavement, scuffs the bottom of his shoe hard on the resistance. “Bet it was easier on you, too.”

Yamamoto doesn’t comment on the total incomprehensibility of this statement; he just shakes his head, hums a little sound of negation. “You didn’t seem like yourself.” Gokudera is walking fast, frustration lending speed to his steps, but Yamamoto is keeping pace without trying, without appearing to be at all flustered by the rate of their walking. “I’m glad you’re okay today.”

“Didn’t you like it better?” Gokudera asks. He can’t not. He can see what he’s doing, all but handing Yamamoto a blade and asking him to cut more hurt into his psyche, but he has to  _know_ , has to push for the confirmation he’s sure he’ll get. “I was nicer to you, wasn’t I?”

Yamamoto shrugs. “I like  _you_.” He says it easily, with the unthinking casualness that always throws Gokudera off his expectations. “You weren’t you, yesterday.”

It’s a simple statement for how soothing it is, cool like rainwater instead of the burning hurt Gokudera was braced for. When he looks up Yamamoto is watching him, a tiny unconscious smile curving at the corner of his mouth and his eyes soft and so pleased Gokudera can’t take his words at anything but face value.

He looks away again almost immediately. It’s hard to watch Yamamoto look at him like that, even harder to do when his eyes are starting to burn with damp and his throat is drawing tight. But after a minute Gokudera lets his hand free from his pocket, lets his fingers fall loose from the fist he had been making. Yamamoto’s hand bumps against his in silent offer a moment later, and Gokudera doesn’t have to look to fit his fingers in against the callused pattern of Yamamoto’s palm. His eyes are still hot, his breathing is still a little shaky, but the cold knot in his chest is unravelling as quickly as if it had been cut with a knife, and his fingertips are going warm against Yamamoto’s skin.


End file.
